


now the fire's burning out of control

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cook knows Archie misses him... and proceeds to take advantage of that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now the fire's burning out of control

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from David Cook's ["Laying Me Low."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msSRSGQj_5o)

Cook knows all of his weak points.

The brush of Cook’s thumb over Archie’s pulse on his wrist can still him.  The tickle of his beard on Archie’s neck and the warm gust of breath at the sensitive spot behind his ear can make Archie shiver, while the slightest nip at his earlobe can make him whimper.  The slow drag of Cook’s fingernails on the small of his back is guaranteed to make him throw back his head and arch off the bed, and when Cook lifts his hand and takes it into his mouth, devoting equal attention to each of his fingers in turn as he suckles them, one after the other… it’s absolutely  _maddening_ , and it’s guaranteed to spike Archie’s arousal from zero to  _feverish._

… But this?  This is what completely  _destroys_ Archie.  And Cook knows it. 

Archie curses under his breath.   _Damn him_ for knowing it so well.

Cook has developed a habit of watching the videos fans have recorded during his concerts—but it’s not out of some twisted sense of narcissism.  No… Cook watches them for  _Archie._   Specifically, Cook watches these videos so he can pick which ones he  _wants Archie to see._  

And Archie always falls for it,  _every single time._

The e-mail is innocuous enough: “Check this out, babe!” with a link to a video that Archie cluelessly clicks on. It’s a video of one of Cook’s recent shows several states away, and from what Archie can make of the thumbnail, it’s one of the smaller venues, with the audience all pressed closed to the stage. He clicks on the video, waits for it to load for several seconds as he settles himself eagerly on a chair, and watches. 

The light in the area is slightly dim, hanging low from the ceiling and throwing Cook’s features into sharp relief. Archie can imagine how warm it feels under those lights—he can see how the tips of Cook’s hair are slightly damp from sweat, can see beads of it rolling down his temple and his jaw (the person behind the camera has obviously zoomed in), can see the wet patches across the dark, tight shirt Cook is wearing.

Archie stares at the computer screen, feeling his throat suddenly go dry.  Cook is gazing straight into the camera as he sings, low and gravelly, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark, and Archie would’ve been insanely jealous of the person behind the lens if he  _hadn’t_ known that Cook  _wasn’t_  performing for the camera.

… Archie knows that in that moment, Cook is thinking of  _him_.

And  _oh,_ this is what Cook wants him to  _see._

Cook’s lips are pressed intimately into the mic, moving his mouth around it as he closes his eyes with each prolonged note.  From this angle, Archie can see the way Cook’s tongue rolls in his mouth and his teeth as he carefully enunciates each lyric.  He does away with the guitar in this song, so his body is pressed close to the mic stand, and Archie has a clear view of Cook’s hips rolling in time with the rhythm of the drums.  And Cook’s hands—

Archie swallows he watches, transfixed.

Both of Cook’s hands are gripping the mic stand tightly, moving slowly up and down in a very,  _very_ familiar manner.

And Archie can feel himself…  _responding._

Archie bites his lip as presses the heel of his palm to the steadily growing bulge between his legs, hoping to…  _abate_ it somehow, but he has also made the mistake of turning up the volume right  _before_ he clicked on the video (he thought it was an  _innocent song,_ okay), and Cook’s voice is echoing all around the bedroom, surrounding Archie like velvet heat and sparking all of his nerves to life. It makes Archie suddenly hyperaware of the drag of his own clothes against his skin, the friction becoming a match that ignites the flame that suddenly suffuses his entire body.

The song is reaching a crescendo, the beat of the drums and the bass line turning frenetic, and Archie’s heart pounds wildly against his ribs as he finally,  _finally_ gives in to his body’s plea and slips his hand inside the waistband of his shorts to grip himself.

Archie’s forehead falls to his arm as fights to keep quiet as he moves.  It feels like… like  _cheating_ somehow, because he doesn’t want anyone’s hands on his body but  _Cook’s_ —the only hands that have ever taught his body to respond this way—and even his own hands can’t even come  _close_ to how Cook expertly  _plays_ his body, in the same way that he makes his guitar  _sing_.

… And as if answer to his wordless plea, Archie’s phone by the laptop lights up, and  _of course_ it’s Cook who’s calling  _right now._

Shaking, Archie uses his free hand to mute the computer’s sound (he doesn’t want to stop watching—he can’t look away now even if he forces himself to) before he swipes at the screen of his mobile to put Cook on speakerphone.

‘ _Hey Arch!_ ’ says that dear, beloved voice, ‘ _Are you home yet_?’ 

Belatedly, Archie realises that in his…  _distraction_ , he has forgotten to call Cook; usually around this time he calls his boyfriend to let him know where he is at the moment so Cook doesn’t worry, as the man tends to be fondly overprotective.  Archie wants to speak up, he really does, but he finds himself entirely out of breath. 

‘ _Archie?’_ Cook’s voice is now laced with concern when Archie doesn’t answer.  ‘ _Is everything okay, babe?’_

“Cook,” Archie whimpers as he squeezes his eyes shut, pumping his hand faster.

Cook must have heard  _something_ in his voice because there is a very significant pause on the other end of the line.  Archie suddenly hears the sound of a door closing—he assumes Cook has moved to a more…  _private_ area—before he hears Cook speak up once more; and this time, Cook’s voice is low, rough, and  _demanding._

 _‘How close are you?_ ’ 

Archie half-sobs onto his arm that is resting on the table as the chair underneath him creaks in his frantic movements. “Almost there,” he mewls piteously. “Oh god, please,  _please_ make me come,  _I need you._ ”

 _‘… Fuck,’_ he hears Cook vehemently curse.  ‘ _I’m right here, baby, I’m right here.  What do you need?’_

“You,” Archie moans, long and unabashed. “ _You,_ Cook, I need you,  _please_.”

‘ _You have me,’_ Cook growls through the phone.   _‘Fuck, Archie, you_ have  _me.’_

Archie can barely register Cook’s words as he talks him through it all, mindlessly following the orders Cook gives him as he touches himself the way Cook  _wants_ him to, his mind awash with torturous images and detailed descriptions of what Cook wants to do to him at this very moment, the things Cook is going to subject him to when they see each other again, and—

‘ _Let me hear you scream,’_ is Cook’s final command, and Archie can only helplessly follow it as he throws back his head and lets the high notes only Cook can wrench out of him escape his throat.

Archie is breathing heavily at the end of it, stars still dancing behind his eyelids and limbs still tingling from the powerful rush of his orgasm.  The video has long since ended, and Archie sighs as he is finally,  _finally_ sated.

‘ _Arch?’_ Cook suddenly speaks up from the other end of the line, his voice strangely hoarse and breathless.  Archie hears the tell-tale rustling of clothes in the background… and the unmistakeable sound of a zipper being pulled down. _‘_ … _Baby?’_

This time, Archie hears something in  _Cook’s_ voice, and smiles.

“Remember how much you like my hands, Cook?  Then imagine this…”


End file.
